


let us be jolly and drown melancholy

by Jothowrote



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Pirate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: Jonathan Sims, Quartermaster of the pirate ship The Beholding, is on the run from both his own ship and from the dread pirate Captain Orsinov.A pirate AU (aka the hiatus has driven me to nonsense).





	let us be jolly and drown melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> So I shouldn't watch Black sails late at night or listen to sea shanties while I work, because things like this are born.
> 
> I apologise for this because I have no idea what I'm doing, though it felt like a good idea at the time.

The wind howled outside, throwing rain and sea spray against the battered walls of the inn. In the dark and quiet of the storeroom, Jon supressed a shiver and tried to ignore the weather. Beyond the door the rest of the inn was buzzing with trade. The monsoon season always brought more sailors in from their ships, searching for dry beds and beer that wasn’t made watery and thin from rain.

Jon preferred it when the inn was quiet, and he could get on with his work in peace. 

The door creaked open, letting in a small pool of warm yellow light to join the faint flickering of his lamp.

‘Jon? Are you still in here?’

‘Yes, Georgie,’ he sighed. ‘I’m just… checking again.’

‘You’ve checked the stores three times in two days.’ Georgie pushed the door open wide and stood in the frame, hands on her hips, surrounded by a corona of light from the inn proper. She pursed her lips. Jon looked down at his notes, embarrassed.

‘I wanted to be sure,’ he said. It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

‘Jon.’ Georgie sighed. ‘Look – I appreciate your work, you know I do. God knows my stock hasn’t been so organised in years. But you can’t shut yourself up in here every time it gets busy.’

Jon peered at Georgie’s face, shadowy and inscrutable in the dark storeroom. 

‘I’m not – I don’t…’ he began – but at the look on Georgie’s face, he fell silent.

‘I’ve been out there since it started to fill up,’ she said, walking over and patting his arm kindly. ‘None of them are here.’

‘I – that wasn’t…’ 

Georgie just frowned, and Jon gave up all pretence.

‘I just don’t know what I would say to them.’

‘You’re afraid they’ll ask you to come back?’

‘I _know_ they will.’ Jon sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’ll say yes.’

The silence that followed felt tense and pointed – Jon hadn’t told Georgie the full story of exactly why he had turned up at her inn out of the blue, looking for work and a place to stay. She hadn’t pressed him an explanation, and for that he was thankful – but he sensed that she was waiting for him to tell her of his own accord.

‘Well.’ Georgie patted his hand again. ‘Come into the bar when you’re done in here, ok? Drinks on the house for my hardest worker.’

‘Thanks, Georgie,’ Jon said, but she was already almost out the door.

He sighed, left alone in the half-dark once again, and carried on tallying the hogsheads of rum.

**

He’d warned Georgie of the danger that harbouring him would bring, but she had been frustratingly cavalier about it. 

‘I’m desperate for an employee who can count,’ she said. ‘The benefits of having such a renowned quartermaster working for me far outweigh the dangers, I assure you. And besides,’ she said, her grin hardening in her face, ‘folks ‘round here are pretty fond of this old pub. I think they’d have something to say if it got attacked.’

‘But-‘

‘I don’t mind, Jon,’ she said, again. ‘I promise.’

‘You should mind,’ he muttered, but he knew when he was beaten. Georgie was one of his oldest friends. You didn’t own the most popular inn on Nassau without being stubborn, and once Georgie locked her legs and dug in her heels, very little could move her.

Not even, as it turned out, the dread pirate Captain Orsinov and her thugs.

The Captain had come knocking around three months after Jon’s abscondment from his own ship. Jon had hidden in the floorboards with the smugglers’ loot and listened to the discussion above his head.

Captain Orsinov had a bright, high voice, and sounded quite mad. Jon had never met her in person, nor been so close to her before, and the adrenaline made his legs shake.

‘Miss Barker,’ Orsinov chirped. ‘How _nice_ to see you again.’

‘I was told your ship made anchor here this morning,’ Georgie said. ‘I do hope I’ll see your custom in the coming evenings?’ Georgie’s voice was calm and low, and completely normal. 

‘I’m afraid I’m here for business, not pleasure,’ Orsinov said, cheerily. ‘I’m actually looking for someone. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Quartermaster Sims recently? I heard that you two were… friends.’

‘Sims?’ Georgie sounded genuinely thoughtful. ‘Quartermaster on the Beholding, right?’

‘That’s him.’

‘We used to be friends, yes – but I haven’t seen him since he took that job. They tend to keep to themselves – we don’t see much of Captain Bouchard’s crew in the inn.’

‘Yes.’ Orsinov’s sweet, sugary voice grew sharper. ‘Bouchard keeps them all on a short leash. But we have reason to believe that one of them has… slipped their collar, shall we say?’

‘Sims, desert? Not likely,’ Georgie scoffed. ‘When I knew him, he was an absolute stickler for the rules.’

‘Well, people change.’ 

Footsteps directly above Jon’s hiding place made him freeze. He held his breath.

‘Maybe,’ Georgie said, noncommittally. ‘I wouldn’t know – like I said, I haven’t seen him in years.’

There was silence for several painful seconds – Jon began to go a little dizzy with panic and lack of oxygen.

‘If you see him,’ Orsinov said, finally breaking the tense silence. ‘Let him know I’m looking for him.’

‘What for? I’ll pass on a message.’

‘If you see him – tell him I want to talk about what he doesn’t know.’

There was a silence, and then a giggle that sent shivers down Jon’s spine.

By the time Georgie opened up the smuggler’s hatch and helped Jon out, he was white and shaking. Georgie poured him a stiff drink and sat him down in the comfortable rooms upstairs, until he’d regained control over his motor functions.

Georgie herself looked completely unphased.

‘I just want to know how to help you,’ Georgie said, finally. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t _tell_ me anything, Jon.’

‘You’ve already helped me too much,’ Jon sighed, staring at the bottom of his glass. 

‘We’ve been through this.’ Georgie rolled her eyes, snatched his glass, and refilled it. ‘Here. Now – please, Jon – just tell me. You turn up at my door after a few years of nothing, missing a leg, and silent as the grave - _please_ , Jon.’

‘Alright,’ he sighed. ‘What do you want to know? The leg is related to… all this,’ he said, waving a hand vaguely. ‘That’s the beginning of story.’

‘Ok,’ Georgie said, slowly. ‘Why is Captain Orsinov after you? What is it that you ‘don’t know’? And – Jon, why did you leave the Beholding?’

She handed him the refilled glass, and he drained it before speaking again.

‘Elias – Captain Bouchard – he killed the previous Quartermaster, Gertrude,’ Jon said into his empty glass, avoiding Georgie’s eye. ‘I found out after he killed one of her contacts. But this all started – really started, I mean – when we got attacked by Jane Prentiss.’

**

They attacked in the still of the night, swarming up the sides of the ship with their swords in their teeth, dripping salt water from their silent swim. Jon had been blissfully ignorant of the invasion, busy organising the hold, until the door had burst open to reveal a breathless, panicked Sasha.

‘Boarders! Prentiss!’ she gasped, hands on her knees.

Jon was too confused to react, and so Sasha managed to drag him bodily from the hold before he was fully caught up. As they ran through the ship, the sounds of scuffling grew louder.

‘Shouldn’t we be _hiding_?’ he hissed. Sasha, still grasping his arm, just shook her head.

‘Captain’s quarters,’ she said, not slowing down.

Jon’s brain ticked over, and he finally understood Sasha’s goal – the most valuable of their treasures were kept by Captain Bouchard in his own personal quarters, and as such they were the most secure rooms on the ship. If they could make it to Elias’ rooms and lock the doors, they might be able to hold out until the landing party – including their Captain – came back from shore.

Unfortunately, the Captain’s quarters were a deck away – a deck now swarming with Prentiss’ bloodthirsty crew.

‘We’re not going to make it,’ Jon said, panting.

‘Shut _up_.’

Sasha pushed through the doors to reveal the dark deck, the moonless night hiding the bared steel of the boarders.

‘Run,’ Sasha said – and Jon did.

The dark, while once helping their enemies, now acted in their favour. Jon dodged the figures of Prentiss’ crew, dark smudges on a darker skyline, and sprinted towards the other side of the ship and their only hope.

Halfway across he heard a familiar cry. He halted in his tracks, ripping his arm from Sasha’s grip, to pull a flailing Martin from the clutches of a marauder. 

‘Jon!’ he squeaked.

‘This way,’ he yelled, no longer trying for subtlety, as he pushed Martin ahead of him towards Elias’ quarters.

Three feet from the open door, with Sasha already inside and Martin in the doorframe, something sharp and cold caught Jon across the calf. His momentum carried him through the door regardless, and Martin and Sasha slammed it behind him. 

Then the pain shot up from his leg, and the adrenaline and stress and panic of the whole thing finally caught up with Jon. He did the only thing his body was capable of - he collapsed.

He woke up on the Captain’s bed, his left leg throbbing with an incessant, intense pain. In the faint light of a lamp, he could see the outlines of Sasha and Martin. From what Jon could hear of the sharp hissing exchange between them, it seemed they were arguing.

‘He’s up in the crow’s nest! If I could just warn him-‘

‘They’ll kill you the second you step out that door!’

‘They’ll kill Tim if they find him!’

‘And then both of you will be dead, and we’ll have got nowhere,’ Martin said, uncharacteristically sharp. ‘Elias will be back eventually. Even if we could make a break for it and get off the ship, Jon can’t.’

‘We don’t have time to wait for the Captain,’ Sasha said. ‘I can make it – I _know_ I can.’ 

Jon tried to sit up, intending to intervene, only to be shot through with white hot pain. He couldn’t hold in his groan, and both their heads snapped up to look at him.

‘Jon! You’re awake,’ Martin said, hurrying over, his hands fluttering over Jon in a panic. ‘Try not to move too much – your leg…’

‘We made it in?’ Jon said, gritting his teeth and forcing himself fully upright. ‘They can’t get us?’

Martin and Sasha shared a look.

‘What is it?’ Jon asked, dread catching in his throat. ‘What is it?’

‘We’re safe for now,’ Sasha said, finally. ‘They couldn’t get in once we’d pulled down the main lock. Turns out Elias is one paranoid bastard.’

‘His paranoia has saved our lives,’ Martin pointed out. 

Jon shot a look at the door. Heavily bolted, reinforced with steel and iron, complete with a large iron bar across its length, it looked sturdy enough. But something felt wrong.

Then Jon realised what was strange – there was no sound coming from the other side.

‘Have they gone?’ he asked. ‘Why aren’t they trying to get in?’

‘They were trying,’ Martin said, biting his lip, ‘but then they just… stopped.’

‘They’re just standing outside,’ Sasha added. ‘Waiting.’

‘We can wait too,’ Martin said quickly. ‘The Captain and the rest of the crew will be back eventually.’

‘And they’ll walk right into an ambush,’ Sasha said. From the rather lacklustre tone of their voices, Jon could tell that this was an argument they’d had more than once already. ‘And Tim’s still out there.’

‘You can’t just run out the door,’ Jon sighed. ‘They’ll kill you before you get two paces away.’

‘ _Thank_ you,’ Martin cried. ‘See, Sasha, Jon agrees with me!’

‘But there might be another way,’ Jon said. Martin threw up his hands in despair.

‘Fine! Die! God forbid anyone listen to reason!’

‘What other way?’ Sasha asked, interested. Jon shifted in the bed, grimacing from the pain.

‘Elias isn’t the kind of person to let himself get trapped in his own rooms by only having one exit.’

‘You think there’s another way out?’

‘I know there is – if you can manage some climbing.’

Jon knew the Beholding better than the backs of his own hands – he’d noticed that the ridges along the side of the stern were more raised than those near the bow. In fact, the strange, almost ladder-like quality of the side of the ship corresponded almost exactly to the outside of the Captain’s quarters. 

‘If you climb out the porthole, you’ll be able to climb up to the deck.’

‘Or move along the side and come up behind them!’ Sasha said, her eyes gleaming.

‘No – it’s too dangerous,’ Martin said quickly. ‘If you get to shore, you can warn the Captain and the others.’

‘But, Tim – ‘

‘It’s your best chance,’ Jon said, nodding at Martin. ‘He’s right. It’s not safe, but it’s safer if you try and sneak out quietly.’

Sasha looked mutinous but didn’t try to argue further. 

Jon should have known that her silence hadn’t been the same as acquiescence. He and Martin listened in horror as Sasha, once out of the porthole and up along the side of the ship, proceeded to climb onto the deck and shout a warning to Tim. The sounds of steel, shouting, splashing, and the odd musket shot had Martin gripping tightly to Jon’s arm.

It was almost worse when the sound died back down to silence and they were left not knowing whether Sasha and Tim were alive or dead, or whether they would eventually be rescued.

‘You should go,’ Jon said, after the silence grew too much to bear. ‘Out the porthole, I mean. You can make it to shore, get help –‘

‘They’ll be watching it now,’ Martin pointed out. ‘And you can’t exactly climb in your condition. I’m not leaving you,’ he said, sharply, just as Jon opened his mouth to suggest exactly that. Jon shut it again and gritted his teeth instead of arguing the point.

‘How’s the pain?’ Martin asked, dabbing at Jon’s forehead with some sheets. Jon made to push him away, only to realise that his face was slick with cold sweat.

‘It’s… bad,’ he admitted. ‘My leg…’

Martin’s face told Jon that it wasn’t good news.

‘I cleaned and bound it as much as I could with what we had, after you passed out,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look great.’

‘It’s my own fault,’ Jon said, with an attempt at a laugh. ‘I always was a little slow.’

‘You came back for me,’ Martin said quietly. ‘Thank you.’ One of his hands was still gripping Jon’s arm, but the other reached for Jon’s hand and linked their fingers together.

Jon shrugged – the pain roared its ugly head again, and he regretted moving.

‘You’d have done it for me,’ he said, and he knew it was true.

They sat quietly, listening to the gentle lapping of the sea against the sides of the ship. Their silent captors remained an invisible threat just outside the door.

Jon faded in and out of consciousness, as the pain rose and fell. He wasn’t sure how much time passed until the moment when some muffled crashing made Martin sit up straighter and grip his arm tighter. 

Then someone fell in through the porthole.

‘Don’t scream! It’s just me!’ Tim shouted brightly, as he clambered to his feet.

‘I didn’t scream,’ Martin said quickly. ‘Tim – how did you…’

‘I was passed out in the crow’s nest – got my stash of rum up there, you know how it is – and so I completely missed the whole ‘invasion’ debacle,’ Tim said, swaying slightly. From his rather jovial voice and the apparent loss of his sea legs, Jon suspected that Tim was still somewhat under the influence of his ‘stash’.

‘How did you get _in here_ ,’ Martin asked, frustrated. ‘Prentiss and her crew are still on deck! Aren’t… aren’t they?’

‘Oh yeah, there’s tons of them,’ Tim said, waving a casual hand. ‘I woke up when Sasha was yelling and splashing about, you know, when she escaped to shore.’

Jon and Martin shared a relieved look. 

‘Thank god,’ Jon said, shifting in the bed to try and alleviate the stiffness in his healthy leg. ‘Elias and reinforcements should be along soon.’

‘They didn’t see me in the nest,’ Tim continued, still a little manic. ‘So I waited until things had calmed down a bit, and snuck in here.’

‘And they didn’t see you?’ Martin looked astonished.

‘Guess not?’

‘Well, it hardly matters now,’ Jon said, ‘but we should probably shut that porthole.’

Martin was already on his feet and running towards it. He slammed the heavy window shut just as a pale face appeared outside it, and Tim helped him bolt it shut.

‘Sorry about that,’ Tim said, not looking very sorry at all. ‘Like I said – I’ve had some rum.’

Martin rolled his eyes.

Jon must have lost consciousness again briefly, because when he next forced his eyes open the porthole showed nothing but inky black night, and Martin was sat beside him and holding his hand again, his permanently anxious face even more pronounced. If he kept on frowning so hard, he was going to get premature wrinkles. Jon must have been loopier from blood loss than he’d realised, because he only just managed to stop himself reaching up and smoothing those wrinkles away.

‘We need to get you to a proper doctor soon,’ Martin said.

‘What he’s saying is that you’ll probably lose the leg,’ Tim stated matter-of-factly, swigging from a fancy-looking bottle he must have swiped from Elias’ liquor cabinet.

‘Tim!’ Martin squawked, but Jon just stared up at the iron lantern swinging above him, moved by the motion of the ship on the swelling waves. He’d known, deep down, that his leg was bad. He’d known that it was most likely not going to be the kind of wound that got better.

But he’d been enjoying pretending, nevertheless.

‘Would you mind passing that bottle, Tim?’ Jon asked tiredly. Tim raised an eyebrow but did so, though Jon nearly dropped it – he was weak, and the bottle felt much heavier than usual.

He had a few large swigs.

‘What?’ he said, rather mulishly, as he caught Martin’s disapproving eye.

‘You’ve lost a lot of blood,’ he said.

‘I’m self-medicating,’ Jon said. ‘It _hurts_.’

‘It’ll hurt less when they cut it off if you’re drunk,’ Tim said. 

‘Tim!’ Martin hissed. 

Jon thought he might pass out again. It seemed like a pretty good option, in all honestly – being awake and conscious was wearing thin. 

When the sounds of fighting started up from outside, Jon watched as Martin and Tim readied themselves – Martin with his cutlass, Tim with a bottle he’d smashed against the end of the Captain’s bed as he apparently forgot about the pistol hanging from his belt – and he realised that he could do absolutely nothing to help.

The pain rose to a crescendo, and Jon let himself slip under the surface.

**

To his surprise, he woke up in a warm, soft bed, and the pain was almost completely gone. Then he tried to move and realised in a moment of sickening dread that the pain wasn’t the only thing missing. His head spun with nausea and he groaned out loud. As though in response, a gentle snore rumbled out from somewhere nearby.

Jon cracked open sticky, crusted eyes to see the inside of the Beholding’s small infirmary, and Martin slumped on a chair with his mouth open, next to the bed, sound asleep. He let out another gentle snore.

Jon tried not to look at the uneven lumpiness of the covers down towards the end of the bed, in case his body made good on its previous promise and threw up. Instead, he took a few deep, calming breaths in through his mouth and out through his nose, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the panic and nausea to pass.

Once his heartrate had slowed, and his stomach was no longer trying to wrestle its way out of his mouth, Jon looked around the room. Martin was still on a chair to the right of the bed, head tilted back, mouth open. Jon focused on Martin’s gently gurgling breaths and slow rise and fall of his chest, trying to distract himself from the aching emptiness past his left knee.

Martin snapped awake with a panicked gargle when the door slammed open; Tim came bustling in, looking tired and drawn.

‘Good; you’re awake,’ he said, staring directly at Jon. ‘I was wondering whether you’d pull through.’

‘Jon!’ Martin’s eyes went wide. ‘How long have you been awake… you should have woken me up!’

Jon could feel their eyes on him like the burning midday sun, and he wished he could turn his face away. Instead he shut his eyes.

‘You’re lucky you didn’t die,’ Tim’s voice said, tiredly. 

A warm hand wrapped around Jon’s limp one. 

‘How long have I been out?’

 

‘Almost a week,’ Martin said, squeezing his hand gently. ‘You’ve woken up a few times, but you weren’t entirely with us. For a while, we thought you might…’ 

‘We made it out then?’ Jon said. He opened his eyes to see Martin and Tim exchange a dark look.

‘Jon…’ Martin said, all tired eyes and pale face. 

‘What happened? Wait – where’s Sasha?’

They both just stared at him with sorrowful eyes.

‘Where’s Sasha?’ Jon said again, harder, grasping tight to Martin’s hand. It felt like the only sure anchor in a turbulent sea.

‘Sasha’s gone,’ Tim said, shrugging. ‘She warned the Captain and the rest of the landing crew about Prentiss, but disappeared in the chaos when they retook the Beholding.’

‘Elias thinks she most likely got hit into the water, and drowned,’ Martin said, his eyes welling with tears.

Jon shut his eyes. His missing leg throbbed strangely. Questions were burning through his brain – why had Prentiss attacked them? What had been her goal? Why had they waited for Captain Bouchard to be on land, away from his ship?

Why had they lost Sasha?

Another hand took his free one, dryer and larger and rougher than Martin’s. Jon slipped back into uneasy sleep with Tim on one side and Martin on the other, his own guardian angels.

**

A few days after Jon had been allowed to leave the infirmary and go back to his old room – as the Quartermaster, he was one of the few lucky ones to get his own cabin, even if it also doubled as his office and was barely more than a glorified cupboard – he was visited by the Captain.

Elias Bouchard knocked before he entered but didn’t wait for permission. He looked Jon up and down in a piercing, dispassionate way, much like a rich owner inspecting his prize race horse.

‘You seem to be getting on well with the leg,’ Elias said, sitting down primly in the only available chair.

The peg leg the Captain had provided, while giving Jon much-needed mobility, still hurt his healing stump whenever he moved. Jon just nodded at Elias, gritting his teeth as he propped himself up on his desk.

‘We were very lucky that our losses from Prentiss’ attack were manageable,’ Elias continued, eyes boring into Jon’s. 

‘ _Manageable_?’ Jon said, struck by Elias’ casual tone. ‘We lost twelve people. Including Sasha.’

‘Prentiss wanted us all dead and the Beholding sunk to the ocean floor.’ Elias’ eyes were intense and flinty. ‘She barely even scratched our surface, Jon. You have no perspective.’

Jon wanted to argue, but his stump was throbbing with sick pain and he refused to show his weakness in front of the Captain. Instead he forced his face to impassiveness and frowned right back.

‘Why?’

Elias cocked his head.

‘Why… what?’

‘Why did Prentiss want to destroy us? We’ve always steered clear of her and her crew – even after she tried to pressgang some of us.’ They’d only just managed to wrest Martin from her grasp – Jon had naively believed that to be the worst Prentiss was capable of.

‘She’s always wanted us destroyed,’ Elias said, ‘but she’s never had the gumption to launch a full-scale attack before. Something gave her that extra push – she had friends in high places.’

Jon shook his head, confused.

‘But who would help her against us?’

‘Who else?’ Elias shrugged – something that Jon had never seen him do. Elias was usually completely self-assured, implacable, certain. ‘Orsinov.’

The name sent shivers down Jon’s spine, and he collapsed heavily onto his bed, his sore leg finally giving way.

‘Why would Orsinov want us gone?’

‘Why not?’ Elias stood. ‘We’re natural rivals – it’s inevitable that she would want to get rid of the competition.’

There was something in his voice that made Jon think there was more to the story than just pirate rivalry – but Elias was already leaving, and Jon didn’t have the strength to question him further.

‘Get better, Jon,’ Elias said, his hand on the door. ‘We have work to do.’

Jon was left with unanswered questions and pain whirling around his brain.

Elias, true to form, did not let Jon have any convalescence time on land. The Beholding headed straight out into the shipping lanes, terrorising merchant ships and the English Navy, and Jon was thrown back into his work.

Truthfully, he was relieved – being busy helped him deal with the pain and forced him to get used to his new peg leg. He was not without help, either. Martin, of course, helped out whenever he could, which Jon appreciated. More surprisingly, Tim was a regular visitor to Jon’s office, lending a hand with the heavier items in the hold, and even once carrying Jon back to his room when his leg gave out and he could barely even crawl.

Jon asked Martin about it, quietly, one morning. Martin had brought him breakfast and chewed thoughtfully.

‘We were never close before, after all,’ Jon said.

‘I think he feels guilty,’ Martin said. 

‘For what?’

‘Well, he was in the crow’s nest when Prentiss’ crew attacked, right? Maybe he thinks he should have seen them coming.’

‘I doubt he would have, even if he had been completely sober,’ Jon said, stirring his porridge listlessly. ‘They attacked that night for a reason – it was completely dark.’

‘Maybe it’s something else.’ Martin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly confide in me.’

Jon thought about it all day, and later that night, when Tim offered to help change the bandages on his stump, he seized his chance.

‘Why are you helping me so much?’ he asked, plainly. 

Tim looked up from where he was gently wrapping the bandages around the weeping wound – after a day on his feet, Jon always seemed to rip his stitches.

‘I want to help,’ he said. ‘Do you not want me to?’

‘No, I –‘ Jon paused. ‘I didn’t think you liked me,’ he said, truthfully.

‘I didn’t,’ Tim said. ‘I thought you were a grumpy bastard who used abused Martin’s feelings for you by treating him as your own personal servant.’

Jon snorted. ‘Hardly. I don’t tell him to _do_ anything. I couldn’t get rid of him if I tried.’

‘I know that _now_ ,’ Tim said sharply. ‘Look, I just – you’re not who I thought you were.’

‘Martin thought you felt guilty.’

‘That too, a little.’ Tim finished tying off the bandages but didn’t get up from where he was kneeling by Jon’s bed. His hand was warm on Jon’s knee. ‘I messed up, that night. I know it, you know it, Elias knows it. Sasha – Sasha paid the price. And you did. I can’t get her back, or your leg back, but I can do this at least.’

Jon couldn’t argue with that.

**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still prettying up the second half, so it may end up much longer than I expect.


End file.
